


uneasy lies the head

by Inkstained_Dreamer



Series: This Can't End Well [1]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst abounds in Nargothrond, Celegorm loves his dogs, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Guilt, Hallucinations, Nargothrond, Queerplatonic Relationships, also tyelpë is trans because yes, sibling relationships, where is maedhros we need maedhros
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-18 04:42:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28861245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inkstained_Dreamer/pseuds/Inkstained_Dreamer
Summary: He made the right choice. Finrod was insane. Right?
Relationships: Celebrimbor | Telperinquar & Curufin | Curufinwë, Celegorm | Turcafinwë & Curufin | Curufinwë, Curufin | Curufinwë & Finrod Felagund | Findaráto
Series: This Can't End Well [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2116659
Comments: 12
Kudos: 24





	uneasy lies the head

The thin golden circlet stared at Curufin from where it sat on his desk. It seemed accusatory somehow; the sparkling jewels at the center like unforgiving eyes. Curufin flopped onto the bed and stared back. 

“Stop looking at me like that,” he admonished. The coronet didn’t reply, but it’s regard seemed to intensify. 

“I did what I had to do,” Curufin snapped at it, rising and walking over to the desk, as if proximity could make his words more powerful. “I did what was right. What was reasonable.”

He ran a finger over the tiny leaves that made up the crown. He remembered forging them. Each one bore his fingerprint. They’d been easy to make, just playthings, but Finrod had acted as if they were fascinating and wonderful. He’d picked each one up as they’d cooled, turning them in the light, his lips parted in amazement. 

“They’re nothing special,” he’d said, his voice coming out harsher than he’d intended.

Finrod had pressed their foreheads together, ignoring the soot and sweat on Curufin’s skin. “I think they’re beautiful.”

Curufin had stepped back and turned away. “It’s so obvious that you don’t know anything about forging. They’re just  _ leaves.  _ Just stupid leaves.”

And Finrod had grabbed his wrist and pulled him back and pressed his smiling mouth to Curufin’s ear and whispered a bunch of things that Curufin had been too confused and distracted and bothered to understand at the time. He could feel Finrod’s teeth pricking his skin. That’s how close he’d been. 

Curufin grimaced and pulled his hand away from the golden leaf. It didn’t matter. He should just go to sleep. 

He extinguished the luminary crystal and climbed into bed, not bothering to take off his robes. He lay on his back and stared at the ceiling. Time passed. He rolled onto his side. He kicked off the blankets. He pulled them back up. He threw his pillow at the wall and rested his head on his arms. Five minutes later he got up to get the pillow, managed not to see the unfinished piece of armor on the floor and fell headlong over it with a muffled curse. He got the pillow. He pulled his robes off and slipped into his nightshirt. He got back into bed and went back to staring at the ceiling. There was a crack in the rock that looked rather like a smile.  And that shadow next to it could be hair. . .

Finrod’s face loomed over him and Curufin sat up with a squeak. The shadows were just shadows. The crack was just a crack again. Curufin fumbled for his glasses and shoved them onto his nose. Blurred outlines came into focus. He exhaled. Nothing was there. 

With a sigh, Curufin activated the luminary crystal and swung his feet onto the floor. Sleep was obviously not happening tonight. Whatever. He didn’t need it anyways. 

He sat down at the desk and opened a schematic for that exploding arrow Celegorm had wanted. Personally, Curufin thought it was a rather silly idea, but it would make Tyelko happy and it was something to do. 

The coronet glittered in the corner of his eye, and Curufin found himself sketching leaves in the margin of the parchment. With a growl, he slashed in a trunk and turned them into a tree. 

A few more trees followed, then a bench and two small figures. He was drawing the atrium at the center of Nargothrond. It had been one of Finrod’s great triumphs--a huge cave, open to the sunlight, where trees and flowers grew in profusion. Fountains gurgled tranquilly. There was even an artificial stream where ducks paddled. Curufin had designed the watering system. Celegorm had added the ducks. Without asking. 

Curufin loved the atrium. It made him think of the gardens at Formenos, and before that, of his dim memories of their home in Tirion, which in turn made him think of his mother. He missed her. She’d always seen him for himself, not just as a copy of his father. She’d patched him up when he’d burned himself in the forges, she’d listened when he complained about the other apprentices, and she’d stood between Curufin and his father when  Fëanor snapped at him for his mistakes. 

Curufin bit his lip and headed into the hallway. He’d go check on Celebrimbor. He stayed up too late, working on his projects. Curufin reflected wryly that he wasn’t the best role model, but he could at least make sure Celebrimbor slept. He hoped Tyelpë wasn’t still angry at him. He’d closeted himself in his rooms and refused to answer when Curufin coaxed him to come out after Finrod had left. After Curufin had stood up in front of the entire court and called his friend a delusional fool. 

No light came from under Celebrimbor’s door, but Curufin pushed it open anyways. Tyelpë was curled in a ball on his bed, his eyes shut, his breathing steady. Curufin pulled the blanket up over his son’s shoulders and smoothed his hair. Gently, he slipped Celebrimbor’s glasses off his nose and set them down on a table. No traces of worry or anger clouded his peaceful face. But when Curufin glanced at the blueprints scattered across the floor, he could see that they almost all showed weapon designs.

He sighed. He wished he could make the world perfect and peaceful and safe for his son. But he couldn’t. All the love in the world couldn’t stop wars. He took one more look at Tyelpë’s sleeping face, and slipped out of the room, closing the door as quietly as he could. 

The circlet was still sitting on his desk when Curufin re-entered his room. He pointedly ignored it and returned to his arrow design, but his sketch from before caught his eye. 

A few months before everything had happened, he’d been sitting in the atrium with Celegorm, who’d been brushing one of his dogs (Curufin never knew which, they all looked the same to him--big, furry, and toothy). Curufin had been working on a design when Celegorm had turned to him and asked, “Do you ever think about the Oath?”

Curufin’s pen had skittered in a jagged line across the parchment. “What oath?” he’d replied, trying to sound nonchalant.

“ _ The _ Oath. You know, the binding promise we made to Atya? How many oaths have you been taking lately, Curvo?”

“I try to avoid making promises,” had been Curufin’s dry answer. Celegorm had rolled his eyes. 

“But for real--do you ever think about it? Like. . .what if something happens? Are we going to do anything?”

Curufin had given an irritated sigh. “Like you said, we promised Atya. I won’t let him down.”

There’d been a pause then. A heavy, waiting pause, which Celegorm had broken.

“Curvo, you do know. . .Atya. . .well, he wasn’t always right. He made mistakes, just like everyone else. So maybe. . .maybe we should just forget the Oath. Things are good here. And maybe if we do that, if we stop fighting for Atya’s claims, then someday we can go home,” he’d added, in a soft, wistful voice Curufin had never heard before. “We could see Amya again.”

“You can abandon Atya if you want,” Curufin had snarled. “But if you do, you’re even more of an idiot that I thought. Good luck going  _ home _ .” He’d laughed cruelly. “I’m sure Amya would just love to see you now that you’re a  _ kinslayer _ . And a disgraced, cowardly one to boot.”

That had been the second time since he was a child that Celegorm had hit him. Curufin buried his head in his folded arms. He’d had a black eye for a week and had told everyone it was a forge accident. Finrod had guessed, though. Finrod had always been good at reading him. 

“You were in a fight,” Finrod had said, stating it as if Curufin had told him outright.

“I was not,” Curufin had said coldly. “It was an accident.”

Finrod had given him his I-know-you’re-lying look. “Gods, Curvo, give me more credit as your friend. You always wear your glasses in the forge. And your glasses aren’t broken, which they would be if a piece of metal flew into your face. So there.”

“You’re quite the detective,” Curufin had snarked. Finrod reached out and took his hands, turning them over to look at the callouses and scars of years of smithing.

“I’m just worried about you.”

“You’re always worried about me. No one asked you to care.”

Finrod had scooted closer. “Well, yeah. No one needed to. That’s kind of what love is.” 

“Love?” Curufin had echoed. 

Finrod nodded. “Yes.”

“Oh.” 

Curufin lifted his head from his desk. Finrod had been so kind, and he’d repaid him by tearing out his heart in front of an entire city. What a hypocrite he was, to tell someone he loved them, to promise to fight by their side, to hear their dreams and wishes and secret thoughts, and then to toss that person away as if none of it had mattered. And the worst part of it was that it wasn’t the first time he’d done it. And it probably wouldn’t be the last. The circlet floated in his peripheral vision, accusatory.

“Celegorm started it,” Curufin whispered. But he knew it wasn’t an excuse. He’d followed along when he could’ve reined his brother in. 

When Celegorm had stood up, at his most beautiful and terrible, his eyes flashing with the light of Oromë, and had called Finrod an insane idiot who would pull Nargothrond over the edge behind him, Finrod’s eyes had been desperately fixed on Curufin.  _ You know that’s not true _ , his eyes had said. And Curufin had looked back at him and condemned him with a smile on his face.

Carefully, Curufin lifted Finrod’s crown in his hands. Maybe if he took a fast horse, he could catch him, and hold out the coronet and say  _ Finrod, forgive me, I made a mistake, I love you. Don’t leave. Or at least let me come with you. I’ll follow you anywhere, if you just say you forgive me. _

No. It was out of the question. He’d made his choice, and he couldn’t undo the damage he’d done. He should just forget Finrod, like he’d forgotten all the other people he’d ever had to betray. It was part of life--you trusted no one, and no one trusted you. That was how he’d always kept it, aside from his family. But maybe even that had changed, he realized. Celebrimbor was fast moving away from him.

And wasn’t that what Curufin had wanted? He had always hoped that his son would lead a life untainted both by the violence of the Oath and the strife of war. And that would mean letting Tyelpë go, perhaps forever. But when the time came, he never thought it would be like this. No. He’d be able to visit Celebrimbor, watch him grow from afar. They’d write. Maybe someday they’d be able to go home together, and Celebrimbor could meet his grandmother.

Curufin felt a scalding tear trickle down his cheek. It plopped onto the schematic before him, leaving a smeary stain. His mother was far away and probably hated him. His father was dead. His closest friend, his love, was gone. His own son was disgusted by him, and he had a right to be. Curufin was disgusted with himself too. 

Fiercely, Curufin reached out and jammed the circlet onto his head. He couldn’t think like this. Regret was for fools, that’s what his father had always told him. Once you’d done something, you’d done it, and there was no point in shrinking from your actions. Always keep pushing forward, his father had told him. Run, and when you can’t run, walk, and when you can’t walk, crawl. But never stop. Stopping is giving in. Stopping is giving up. And giving up is weakness. 

Curufin swiped the tears from his eyes, suddenly angry. How  _ dare _ Finrod try to stand in his way! And how could he have betrayed his father’s trust by helping a son of Finarfin. 

Curufin rose and stormed across the room to the mirror, staring at himself. The crown gleamed on his forehead. It was crooked, his hair tangled around it. Curufin ripped shaking fingers through the knots. With a painful jerk, a clump of hair came away in his hand. Curufin stared at it. 

“Be careful,” said a voice from behind him. “You shouldn’t pull your hair like that. You’ll hurt yourself, and besides, it’s so beautiful.”

Curufin slowly raised his eyes to the mirror, and met a familiar pair of blue ones. Finrod stood in the shadows behind him, an expression of consternation on his face. 

“What are you doing here?” Curufin whispered. “You shouldn’t be here.”

Finrod tilted his head. “On the contrary, this is my home. And it’s not like this is the first time I’ve been in your room.”

“Get out. Get out and leave me alone, you lying bastard.”

Finrod’s eyebrows wrinkled. A flash of hurt crossed his face. “I never lied to you, Curufin.”

Curufin laughed bitterly. “Of course you did. I see right through you now. You want a Silmaril for yourself. You want to steal my father’s work. You want to take my birthright away from me!”

Finrod frowned. “Curufin, what use would I have for a Silmaril? I’d rather have an infestation of stingroaches than lay a single finger on your ‘birthright.’ And to be honest, I don’t think you want it either.”

“You’re wrong! You’re lying!” Curufin practically screamed at the figure in the mirror. 

“I’m not, love. I just want you to be happy. I don’t want to see you meet your father’s end.”

Curufin scowled. “And what, precisely, is the problem with dying a hero?”

“Your father didn’t die a hero, Curufin. He died a madman and left a legacy of destruction and slaughter behind him. You don’t have to do the same.”

“Shut up! You didn’t know him, you don’t know what you’re talking about. Just go--go away! I never want to see you again, you deceitful son of a bitch.”

Finrod bowed his head for a moment. “I am not the deceitful one here, Curvo. You are lying to yourself.”

With a wordless cry of pain and grief and frustration, Curufin raised his fist and brought it crashing into the mirror. Finrod’s face disappeared as shining shards tinkled to the floor. Drops of dark blood from Curufin’s sliced fingers dripped onto them. 

He whirled, staring wildly behind him. No one stood there. Finrod had disappeared. 

Curufin collapsed onto the floor, tears running down his cheeks. The circlet dug into his forehead, and with shaking fingers he jerked it off and let it clatter down beside him, atop the shattered mirror. His blood left a few speckles on the golden leaves. 

“I. . .am not. . .lying,” Curufin gasped to the shadows. “I did the right thing. The reasonable thing. Finrod was the one who betrayed me first.”

His words devolved into a sob, and he curled into a ball, one of the shards digging into his cheek. The cuts on his hand smarted. 

He was dimly aware of rapid footsteps coming down the hall. But before he could push himself up, the door flew open, revealing a bleary-eyed Celegorm, a light in his hand. One of his dogs pushed past him and began anxiously licking Curufin’s face. 

Celegorm followed his canine companion and knelt beside Curufin, brushing the splintered pieces of mirror out of the way.

“Curvo, what’s going  _ on _ ?! It’s like. . .two in the morning.”

Curufin pushed the dog’s muzzle away from his face and tried to glare at Celegorm. But halfway to full-on frigidity, his face crumpled, and he buried his head in his knees.

Celegorm sighed. “Okay, okay, come on. Let’s go to my room and get your hand fixed up.”

With a grunt, Celegorm picked Curufin up off the floor, grumbling to himself unintelligibly. The hound capered along at their side.

“No, I did not carry you all the way here for you to lie on my floor,” Celegorm said firmly, shutting the door of his room behind them. “Go sit down and try not to wake my babies.” 

Curufin plopped dejectedly down on Celegorm’s bed, between a hulking grey wolf-like thing and a peacefully snoring spotted puppy. Curufin would never understand Celegorm’s fixation with dogs of all kinds, but he patted the pup’s head anyways. It half-opened one eye, sighed contentedly, and closed it again. 

“Aw, Nini likes you,” Celegorm exclaimed, wriggling in between Curufin and the wolf-dog, a few strips of cloth clutched in one fist and a glass in the other. “Here, give me your hand, and I’ll tell you about her.” Celegorm set his cup down and set to work bandaging Curufin’s fingers. “Nini’s only a few weeks old, but I can already tell that she’s going to be a great hunter, just like her mother. You see,” Celegorm continued, taking a swallow from his glass. “She jumps all over her siblings and chases anything that moves. That’s why she’s such a peaceful sleeper; she gets all her energy out during the day.” Celegorm tied off the bandage. “There. Feel all right? Nelyo was always better with injuries than me.”

Curufin shrugged, embarrassed. He  _ really _ hated crying in front of his brother. Or anyone, for that matter. “It’s fine. Thanks.”

Celegorm picked up his cup again. Curufin watched him, his eyebrows furrowed. 

“Tyelko, what are you drinking?” he asked suspiciously.

“Uh, mead. Why? You want some?”

“Mead, huh? It’s too early for me to be breaking mirrors, but it’s an okay time for you to be getting drunk? For the. . .third time this week? I think?”

Celegorm waved a careless hand. “We all have our different ways of coping. And I wouldn’t say I’m  _ drunk _ . I’m going to be, hopefully quite soon, but this--” he gestured down at himself, “--this is not drunk.” 

Curufin sighed. “Gods, Tyelko. You’ll kill yourself doing that.” 

“And you’ll kill yourself smashing mirrors. But here we are.” He paused. “Do you want to talk about what happened there, now that you can form a coherent sentence?”

Curufin stared down at his lap. “I wasn’t having a good night.”

“Well, that’s obvious. Anything else?”

“I thought Finrod was in my room. So I punched the mirror.”

Celegorm shot him a worried look. “Um. . .how tired are you, exactly? ‘Cause I don’t think Finrod was in your room.”

“He said Atya was a madman and he told me I was lying to myself.”

Celegorm raised his eyebrows. “Okay, then. And that made you angry so you went and tried to kill the mirror?”

Curufin sighed and flopped backwards, staring up at the ceiling. “Well, yes. But also no. Celegorm, do you think I’m a bad person?”

“Uh, well, I hate to remind you but we  _ did _ kind of murder people. Multiple times.”

“I know that! I meant, like, me personally. Aside from the murder bits.”

“I don’t think you are personally bad. At least not often.” He laughed. “I mean, I’m probably worse than you. You don’t do stupid stuff. In fact--” he took another long swallow of mead “--you’re probably, like. . .the smartest person I know.”

“Thanks, Tyelko. But you can be smart and bad. You know, Tyelpë thinks I’m an awful person. He told me so, right after Finrod left. And then he shut himself up in his room and now he won’t talk to me.”

Celegorm grimaced. “Sorry. I don’t think he really feels that way.”

“I beg to differ. I think he very much feels that way. Otherwise he wouldn’t have said that. Unlike me, my son consistently says what he means. Sometimes I don’t think he even understands the concept of lying.”

Celegorm smiled and refilled his glass. “I’m glad one of us had a kid. I love Celebrimbor so much, you know? He’s so great.”

“Yes. I do know.”

Celegorm patted Curufin’s shoulder. “Don’t worry. He still loves you.”

“He said he hated me,” Curufin whispered. 

“He’ll get over it. Kids say those kinds of things all the time at his age. It’s normal.”

Curufin turned away, onto his side. “I wish Nelyo was here.”

Celegorm gasped in mock offense. “Why do you want Nelyo when you’ve got me?! I’m hurt.”

“Nelyo makes good decisions. You and I don’t.”

“Why do you need to make a decision? Is this still about Tyelpë?”

Curufin bit his lip. “No. It’s about Finrod.”

“Ah, I see,” Celegorm said sagely. “You want to know if he really showed up in your room. You don’t need Nelyo for that, silly. I can tell you--he didn’t.”

Curufin pushed himself up. “Maybe he didn’t, it doesn’t matter. But I want to go after him.”

Celegorm nearly dropped his glass. “Say again? You want to. . .what?”

“Go after him.”

Celegorm absentmindedly patted his dog’s side. “Because he’s your lover and you don’t want him to die, so you plan on killing Beren and dragging Finrod back here?”

Curufin cringed. “Wha--! No! No, I do  _ not _ want to do that! And Finrod isn’t. . .we aren’t affiliated in that way.”

“You seem to be forgetting that you two have actually kissed in front of me.”

Curufin threw up his hands. “Yes, we have, but kissing doesn’t automatically mean  _ that _ !”

“Okay, okay, whatever. Why do you want to follow Finrod after you engineered that whole thing to get Nargothrond to turn on him?”

Curufin winced again. “Well, that’s why. I need to apologize. Maybe I can get him to come back. And if I can’t, then I’ll go with him and we’ll face Angband together.”

There was a silence broken only by Nini’s sleepy snuffles. Celegorm refilled his glass and downed it in two gulps. 

“Yep, I wish Nelyo was here,” he finally exclaimed. “He’s good with all this love-and-death-quests stuff.”

Curufin grabbed his brother’s shoulder. “Listen, Tyelko. You’ll come with me, won’t you? I’m hopeless at tracking, you know that. I can’t find Finrod without you. Please, I won’t be able to live with myself if I don’t do this.”

Celegorm closed his eyes and slowly opened them again. “Fine. Fine. We’ll go, if it makes you happy.”

“You’re the best brother in the world.”

“Of course I am. I’m canceling my plans of getting as inebriated as possible for you. I wouldn’t do that for just  _ anyone _ . We’re Fëanorians. We go on idiotic death quests together. Now stop clinging to me and I’ll write a note.”

Glass in hand, Celegorm waded through his dogs and sat down at his desk. 

“Um. . . ‘Dear people-- went hunting. Curufin too. Will be back in a few days. Tyelpë, please make sure the babies all eat and don’t tear up more shoes. Also, please reconsider never speaking to your father again. He is very sad and is spiraling into an existential pool of self-loathing. Love, Celegorm.’ Perfect. Now they won’t worry about us. Oh, wait, one more thing-- ‘P.S. Tyelpë, don’t forget to take your man-potion.” 

Curufin bit back a groan. “That’s  _ not  _ what it’s called. It’s puberty-suppressing elixir.” 

“He’ll know what I mean. It’s fine.  _ Now _ it’s perfect.”

Celegorm bounded over the dogs and lay back down on his bed, burying his face in the wolf-dog’s coat. 

“I’m going to bring Huan, okay? He’s great at tracking. Aren’t you, my smart boy?” he crooned into the dog’s ear. “Yes, yes you  _ are _ !” 

“I hate to interrupt your little love-fest, but can I sleep in here?” Curufin choked out, feeling his cheeks flush. He hadn’t voluntarily shared a room with his brother since he was a child.

Celegorm grinned sleepily at him.“Sure. Don’t smash my mirror, though.”

“I’ll resist the temptation,” Curufin said sarcastically, crawling under the blankets next to Celegorm. “Thank you,” he murmured gratefully, curling up between his brother and yet another dog. 

“Try to sleep,” Celegorm said, yawning. “G’night. Love you.”

“Love you too,” Curufin whispered a few minutes later, when he was sure Celegorm was asleep. 

And, against all odds, he fell asleep too, and dreamed off trees with leaves of gold the same shade as Finrod’s hair. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! As always, I appreciate comments and kudos sososo much. :)  
> Side note: the title of this piece comes from William Shakespeare's play Henry IV. The full line is "Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown."


End file.
